


As Flies To Wanton Boys

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-18
Updated: 2006-03-18
Packaged: 2018-08-16 06:32:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8091388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: The crew must fight to save themselves from an enemy even they can't defeat. Metafic. (05/25/2003)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: The title is from a line by Gloucester in Shakespeare's 'King Lear'. "As flies to wanton boys, we are to the Gods. They play us for their sport." And on another note, I borrowed a few quotes from some famous movies and good stories. I do not claim them as my own. No deck plates were harmed during the making of this story. Well, okay, some were, but they were really mean and deserved it!  
  
And furthermore, I'd just like to add that several, if not all extras with speaking parts were found hog tied and gagged behind the warp reactor. To this day no one has come forward with any information, but a tall, slender helmsman was seen in the vicinity.  


* * *

> You may want to take a phase pistol with you.
> 
> â€”1.08 "Breaking The Ice"

There was a familiar and characteristic hum in the mess hallâ€”the result of a spaceship traveling at warp factor two. Outside the large picture window, the universe and all it's wonder spread out in a great expanse of mystery and excitement. It was nearing shift change, and Trip Tucker, T'Pol, Malcolm Reed and Hoshi Sato were filling the seats around a table in the mess hall.

But this was not a typical day.

Captain Jonathon Archer was also sitting at this table.

Trip played with the food on his plate, letting his eyes wander the room. Slowly, he began to realize something was different. Something was askew. Something was rotten in the State of Denmark. A look of concentration crept across his face, causing his eyebrows to arch.

Reed, feeling it was his right as armoury officer to be able to inflict pain on whomever he chose worthy, thwacked his commander in the forehead with his PADD.   
"Yoo-hoo, Trip...Enterprise to Trip..."

Trip shook his head, batted the weapon away. "Do you guys notice somethin' strange going on in here?" he asked, eyes trained on a group of crewmen across the room.

"Like what?" asked Archer, posing brashly in his chair.

Trip leaned over the table, lowered his voice. "Like no one else seems to be eatin' except us?"

Hoshi looked around the mess hall with indifference. Archer patronized the Floridian with an annoying grin. Reed kept his eyes down, while T'Pol simply ignored him.

"Guys, I'm telling ya, somethin' weird's going on here," insisted Trip. "These people were here when we arrived, right?" Archer nodded agreement, so Trip continued. "And they all had food on their plates, right? But the same food is still there! I haven't seen anyone take a bite! I sure as hell eat every piece of food they put in front of me, but I haven't seen a single other person take a bite. Sure, a few put food to their mouths, but they put it right back down. Don't you find that strange?"

"Not really," replied Archer.

Reed sighed. "Look, Trip, if you think something's going on, why don't you go over there and talk to one of these so-called phantom eaters?"

Trip pushed his chair out and stood. "Good idea," he nodded, looking for the perfect specimen to approach. Deciding on a young man with dark hair and nondescript features, he weaved his way across the room and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, can I ask you a question?" he whispered into the crewman's ear.

The crewman stared back, his jaw clenched, sweat beading his forehead. And when he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out. He quickly closed it.

"Whoa, hey, relax, I'm not gonna hurt ya. I just wanna ask you a question or two," rushed Trip.

The young man swallowed hard, looking to his table mates for support. But they kept their eyes trained everywhere but on him, whistling and suddenly finding the ceiling fascinating. The man let his eyes fall back on Trip. "I can't speak to you," he said, trying hard not to move his lips.

"Huh, what d'ya say?" asked Trip, cocking an ear in the man's direction.

"I said, I'm not allowed to talk to you."

"Are you serious?"

"They only allow me to sit here, not talk. You know, so it seems like other people besides the senior officers are required on this ship."

"What...are you talking about? Who are they? Who says you can't talk to me?"

"All of them," mumbled the man, still trying hard not to move his mouth as his eyes darted about the room nervously. "Every single one of them."

"Oh, I see now. Thank you very much. You've helped me tremendously," replied Trip. He shook his head, and headed back to his table.

"So, what did he say?" asked Reed.

"I have no idea," replied Trip in a strident voice. "Apparently, 'they' told him he can't talk to me...Somethin' about not being allowed. What the hell is that about?"

"Oh, yeah," cringed Archer, "Them. I forgot about 'them'. It's a union thing."

"Those bastards!" grunted a disassociated voice.

Several of the senior officers spun their heads around, searching for a body to put with the voice.

"They just can't let a guy get a break in this world, can they?" continued the voice. "I mean, if they just gave the guy a chance, you never know, he could be the next big thing."

Not finding the speaker of the voice, the officers shrugged and returned to their conversation.

"It's a real shame," sighed Archer, shaking his head. "But at least we have good contracts. We can speak anytime we want."

Reed perked, sharing a high five with his captain.

"What in Zeus's butthole, are you two talking about?!" cried Trip.

Archer motioned for his friend to lean closer. "It's like this," he started, speaking slowly so his friend would understand. "There's a greater power out there than the Vulcans."

T'Pol glanced up from her PADD with a stoic frown. "I certainly hope you're not referring to the Q Continuum, Captain?"

Archer waved her off. "Not for at least a few more seasons," he said. "I'm talking about something even more powerful. I'm talking about network executives."

"An evil bunch they are," spat Hoshi, with venom.

"They hold our existence in the palms of their hands," continued Archer, clenching a fist to drive his point home. "They control our destiny's...or, oh my god!...Or lack there of!"

"Lack there of?!" shrieked Hoshi, her eyes wide. "Our universe is falling apart isn't it?! They're gonna cancel us?! My molecules are going to be spread across the cutting room floor aren't they?!"

"Welcome to my world," sighed the floating voice.

Trip, lips pursed and giving a sideways glare, leaned over the table. "You're startin' to scare me, guys. Whatta ya mean, our universe is fallin' apart? Who's gonna scatter Hoshi's molecules? And I still don't understand who 'they' are?"

Ignoring his commander, Reed turned to Archer with a worried expression. "So, what are we going to do? We can't just let them cancel us before we hit season seven. We have to do something. And I suggest something rather quickly. And preferably with a lot of explosions."

"Hello!," sang Trip, waving his arms. "I'm right here...And I just asked you all a question."

"You're right, Malcolm," agreed Archer. "We can't let them do this. But we're going to have to do something...something...spectacular. Something the network executives will never forget. Something bigger than gratuitous blue skivvie shots or..." he paused to stifle a laugh. "Oh, I can't say it."

"Captain! Tell us. Or what...?!" urged Hoshi.

Archer contained his grin. "Or a UPN promo designed to mislead the audience into thinking one of us will be killed off in the next episode."

The senior officers laughed. "Good one, Captain," said Reed. "But in all seriousness..."

"What do you propose we do, captain?" interrupted T'Pol, finally placing her PADD down to join the conversation. "I have already exposed most of my body parts in both sexual and non-sexual scenarios with several male members of this crew. What more could the executives want for a ratings boost?"

"Well, we know our universe is starting to disintegrate, the evidence is appearing everywhere. First, Trip noticed the food thing. Second, the nondescript crewman at the other table actually said something out of context, he mentioned 'them'. You know we're not allowed to mention 'them'."

"And just yesterday, I swear I saw someone at the helm," added Reed, a stern look of concern on his face. "It was the strangest thing. It was like he was supposed to be there."

The senior officers contemplated this for a moment. Then shook their heads.

Trip was fully frustrated now. He wasn't going to be ignored any longer, so he climbed onto the table and began swinging his hips in beat to his own humming. "I'm not invisible guys....I'm right here...You're gonna notice me..."

"This is just horrible, Captain," whined Hoshi, the full weight of the predicament hitting her. "I just got my molecules back. And we haven't even skimmed the surface concerning possible future romantic relations with Trip . This just isn't fair."

Archer placed a hand on her shoulder, smiling sympathetically. "It'll be okay, Hoshi. We all want a relationship with our chief engineer, but we'll get through this." Then his comforting look turned mischievously wicked. "I got a plan."

Meanwhile, Trip was still fighting for attention on the table...

"I'm too sexy for this uniform...too sexy for this uniform!" he continued to sing, playfully unzipping his crew suit.

"Oh sure. I take my shirt off and I still don't get more screen time."

"Well, there's no time like the present to put it into action," stressed Reed, pushing out his seat to stand. "I think I just heard that voice again."

Archer spun his head, seeking out the intruder. "Really?"

"Must have been my imagination," dismissed Reed. "Or a short lived alien possession."

"Oh, that's it. I'm just a freaking anomaly!"

"All right," continued Archer, rising with the rest of his bridge crew. "Let's go conjure us up an adventure the network will never forget!"

Archer and his crew headed for the door, discussing further details. But when the doors whooshed opened, the captain stopped short, scratching his temple. "Hey, wait. Something's missing here..."

They checked their pockets and furrowed their brows. "You are mistaken, Captain," replied T'Pol. "We have everything."

"No, Miss Vulcan. We don't," said Archer. Then he pointed a finger. "Trip."

T'Pol, Reed and Hoshi turned back for their commander, only to find him doing pelvic thrusts on the table. He seemed to be enjoying himself. "Trip! What the bloody hell are you doing?!" cried Reed.

Trip stopped mid-thrust, starring blankly at his friends. Now that he had their complete attention, he couldn't remember what he wanted to say. "Uh...gratuitous underwear shot?"

"Get down from there!" ordered Archer. "And put your uniform back on, we've got an adventure to inadvertently stumble upon!"

Trip jumped off the table and followed the rest of the senior officers. He still had no idea what was going on, but an adventure meant there was the possibility of running into an attractive alien, and he wasn't about to let the opportunity pass him by.

As Archer, Trip, T'Pol, Reed and Hoshi stepped into the corridor, the door closed behind themâ€”followed by a thud.

"Hey! What about me?!"

* * *

Knowing there was always trouble lurking in the bowels of E-deck, the five senior officers set out in that direction. They had been traveling for several minutes when Archer, T'Pol, Hoshi and Reed heard a crash behind them. Spinning around, they noticed no one there.

Not even Trip.

Then the voice came. It was somewhere between a moan and a plea for help. "Hey! Hey! Get me outta here!"

The remaining officers followed the voice to a gapping hole in the deck. Down in it's bowels was Trip, lying on the ground, a large gash spewing blood down his face. He groaned, rolled over and tried to get up, but to no avail. He fell back down to the deck.

"I can't believe you didn't see that hole, Commander?" reprimanded Reed, his hands braced on his hips. This hole's been here ever since 'Mine Field', and they never did get around to fixing it in 'Dead Stop' either."

Archer leaned over the hole to look down at his chief engineer. "I can't believe you haven't fixed this yet," he huffed.

"I haven't gotten 'round to fixing the scratch I made on the hull either, captain. What makes you think I'll ever get around to this hole?"

"Are you ever going to fix that scratch?"

"Uh, not likely," replied Trip. "It's good for a little comic relief every once in awhile. Now would you guys just help me outta here? I'm bleeding like a son-of-a-bitch!"

Archer and his crew shared an exasperated look. "He's always gotta be dramatic," he sighed, shaking his head.

"Well, you know every good hero story has to have it's unduly accident prone character..."

"Get me outta here!" came Trip's estranged voice from the depths of the pit. "Before I bleed to death!"

"What a baby," mumbled Archer, making his way down into the hole. Once there, he grabbed his friend by the shoulders and heaved him out. Then he made his way out on his own. Once topside, he found the rest of the officers laughing hysterically, holding their stomachs.

Trip was no where to be seen.

"What?" laughed Archer. "What's so funny?"

Hoshi pointed up to the rafters. "You threw him too hard," she said between chuckles.

Archer followed his friend's pointing finger to find Trip straddling a large brace several feet up. "I guess Trip hasn't gotten around to fixing the grav-plating around here either. Do you think we should just leave him there?"

Hoshi, partially composed, replied, "yeah, but then what would we do for comic relief?"

"The Ferengi are always good for a laugh?" offered Reed, weighing the possibility.

But T'Pol snatched that idea away. "They're working at the Las Vegas convention this week," she replied, slightly disheartened.

"Come on, guys!" begged Trip from his perch. "Get me down!"

Finally they relented to helping their friend down, and several minutes later they were on their way again. This time, Trip was on point so they could keep an eye on him. They didn't need him getting into more trouble when they had a mission to accomplish. And they were mightily determined to save themselves from an early retirement. All they needed was a good adventure.

An hour, and several horrible ideas later, Archer stopped dead in his tracks with a grimace. "Uh, people," he said nervously jumping from one foot to the other. "I think I've gotta visit the little Captain's room. Be right back," he said, then bolted around the corner.

This left the rest of the officers standing alone in the corridor. They looked at each other nervously.

Thumbs twiddled. Ceilings and floor plating were studied.

"So, any good porn in the interstellar mail bag this week?" Reed asked Trip, overtly casual.

"I forgot to check," replied Trip. "Thanks for reminding me."

Reed smiled graciously, clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Well, I'm you're friend. I care."

Just then, a rustling down the corridor caught their attention, but not from the direction in which the captain had fled. Trip and the other officers braced themselves as a small figure stepped around the corner. It was a little girl in dirty rags, big blue puppy dog eyes and long golden blonde hair cascading around her alien scaled face.

The Starfleet officers melted at the sight of her, and they felt themselves reciprocating the puppy dog eyes.

Hoshi bent over and introduce herself. "Hey, little girl. I'm Hoshi Sato. I'm the communications officer on this ship, but I should be able to understand your language despite my credentials. What's your name?" she asked, a big grin plastered on his face.

"I don't have a name," the alien responded in perfect English. "'They' never gave me one."

"Who didn't? You're parents?" asked Hoshi.

"No. 'They' didn't give me one. I'm just known as 'alien number one'."

Trip threw his arms up in frustration. "Here we go again with 'they'!"

Hoshi cast an annoyed glance at Trip and turned back to the little girl. "But what are you doing out here? How did you get onto our ship?"

T'Pol scanned the alien with her tricorder, eyeing her skeptically. "She must have entered through the back door."

Reed scratched his head. "We have a back door on this ship?"

T'Pol sighed wearily. "We must," she stated. "How else do you explain why aliens keep boarding our ship undetected."

"Look you hapless twits!" stressed the girl, crossing her arms across her chest with a scowl. "I'm here cause I'm here, and that's the way it's gonna be! You understand?! There had to be some sort of twist in this story."

Hoshi's mouth dropped. "Sorry...sorry," she placated, her palms barred. "I was just concerned for your safety."

Returning to her sweet innocent persona, the alien batted her long eyelashes. "That's so kind of you, but I really must be going now. Andromeda is looking for a small, tragic alien girl to coddle for an episode. And I broke a nail yesterday, so keep your fingers crossed for me, would ya?! See ya later," she said, waving her tiny three-fingered hand.

The officers stepped aside to let the girl pass. "You forgot to leave your number!" called Trip as the girl disappeared around a bend.

Reed punched the commander in the arm. "She's way too young for even you, sir."

"No! Wait!" screamed Archer, as he sprang from the corner. He raced after the little girl, but was too late. She was gone.

Frustration and anger clawing at him, Archer turned on his senior officers. "Why did you let her go?!" he cried, back handing Reed on the shoulder. "We could have used her! She would have made a great victim. She had the youth! The looks! We could've extracted some of Seven-of-Nine's nanoprobes and saved the day! She could have been our savior, and you just let her go?!"

"You could have used me?" whined the faceless voice. "I can play the martyr. I'd be real good if you just gave me the chance?"

Reed slumped his shoulders regretfully. "I'm sorry, Captain. I didn't even think of that. I'm so sorry. It won't happen again."

"Please?"

Archer took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "It's okay. We'll find us a victim to rescue soon enough. Let's just keep searching."

"Just a little screen time, that's all I ask?"

Trip leaned over T'Pol's shoulder. "What's a Seven-of-Nine?" he whispered.

"It's what comes after an eight, and before a ten," she replied, then headed down the hallway after her captain.

They continued through E-deck once again, this time more determined than ever. They would have to keep their eyes peeled for anything, or anyone, that could help them in their cause. And so far, it had been an uncharacteristically dull day. Things were not looking good for the five Starfleet officers.

They were about to give up and head for the Holodeck on Enterprise-D, when they heard a scream.

"Help!" the voice called, singing their song.

The officers bolted for the sound, their spirits high in hopes of finding someone in danger. And if luck was on their side...mortal danger. They were making good time until Trip caught his foot on a deck plate, hurtling to the ground in an unprecedented face plant.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!" he cried, grabbing his arm as the world spun around him.

Archer, T'Pol, Reed and Hoshi turned back and saw their commander sprawled on the ground. "Not again," sighed Archer, rubbing his forehead. "You haven't fixed the deck plating either."

But Reed was not so complacent, too eager to get on with the rescue. "Get up, Mr. Tucker!" he ordered, in a voice that brooked no argument. "We don't have time for this!"

"You're right," agreed Archer. "We don't have much time at all...Trip! We're gonna go ahead. Catch up when ya can!" he called, then followed after the rest of his crewâ€”already continuing on their way.

"Oh gee, thanks guys," mumbled Trip. "I'm only bleedin' to death from my stay at 'Hotel Hole in the Ground', and now I think I just broke my arm." Grudgingly, Trip helped himself up and headed after his friends, limping as he went. When he caught up, Archer and Reed were talking with a frantic ensign, pleading for help.

"He's up on top of one of the shuttles in the launch bay, and I don't know how to get him down," the ensign was saying.

"Don't worry," nodded Reed, striking a superior pose. "The senior officers are on the job, so you need not worry. Where is this crewman in which you speak of?"

The man pointed to ShuttlePod One, so the four heroes took their cue with trepidation. Trip straggled behind. But as he passed the ensign, he paused. "I don't suppose you're one of 'them', are you?" he asked suspiciously.

The ensign shrugged. "Who's 'them'?"

"Never mind."

* * *

Archer and his senior officers stood staring at the albatross before themâ€”more commonly know as ShuttlePod One. A crewman, dressed appropriately in a red shirt, was perched merrily on the roof looking down at them.

"This looks serious," commented Archer. "This is going take some ingenuity."

"I agree," nodded Reed, then he looked up to the crewman. "Hey!" he called. "Don't worry! We're going to come get you down from there. Just hold tight, and don't do anything rash!"

"You're telling me not to do anything rash?!" responded the crewman. "Besides, I don't need your help! I climbed up..."

"Uh-uh-uh," heeded Reed, wagging a finger dismissively. "There's no need to thank us. We're just doing our job." He turned to the rest of the officers and led them aside in order to discuss their options.

"The transporter is our logical choice, captain," offered T'Pol.

"And we'd get to use the special effects," cheered Archer excitedly. "That's always a plus!"

"No wait! I have a better idea," smiled Reed, pride etched on his face. "What if we used the grappler?"

Archer shook his head. "We couldn't grab our own shuttle with that thing, what makes you think we could grab a crewman?"

"We could always recalibrate the deuterium injector assembly to work with the plasma manifold," suggested Trip. "Then all we'd have to do is boost the energy transmission in conjunction with the optical sensor relays and voila...We'd have one hell of a quantum trajectory platform!"

"Don't forget to add the drop of virgin blood," added Reed.

Trip nodded. "Yeah, that too."

"And what exactly would that accomplish, Commander?" asked T'Pol.

Trip dropped his head in frustration. "It would allow for the spatial compensation to align itself with the field generator's dilithium assembly."

"Trip, do you have any idea what you just said?" asked Archer.

"Not a clue, sir," replied Trip with a boyish grin. "But it reminds the audience that I'm not just a pretty face in tight blue underwear."

The senior officers sighed, but after thorough contemplation agreed it was most likely the best idea. So they set out to construct whatever contraption Trip had describedâ€”oblivious to the fact that the crewman had already climbed down on his own.

T'Pol was busy prospecting the deuterium when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around to see the crewman standing beside her.

"Whatcha doin'?" asked the crewman, innocently.

T'Pol pursed her lips, trying to hide her frustration. "Now is not the appropriate time for 'small talk'. We are in the middle of trying to save a crewman..." She stopped mid-sentence and blinked. "How did you get down here?"

"I used the ladder. I was up there fixing the hull plating the commander hadn't gotten around to yet," the crewman replied, pointing to his previous home atop the shuttle.

"No, no, no," admonished Archer, making his way over. "We can't have this. You're just gonna have to get yourself back up there. We need a good rescue, and right now, you're our only hope."

"But I'm only a secondary character," pleaded the crewman. "I can't be on screen this long.."

"Oh sure, give the red shirt a bigger part than me!"

"No, buts," scolded Reed, grabbing the crewman by the scruff of his neck. "It's back up on the shuttle whether you like it or not."

"Trip," Archer said, grabbing his friend and shoving him toward the shuttle. "Go up there with him, and make sure he doesn't come back down till we're ready to rescue him. Got it?"

Trip kicked at the ground mumbling as he followed his captain's order. "Watch me fall off..."

Moments later the rest of the remaining officers stood back to admire their masterpiece. It was a work of Starfleet beauty. Something all future engineers would look back upon with admiration and awe. And of course, the blue prints.

"Okay, Trip, we're ready down here!" Archer called, ready to start the wheels in motion.

"It's about time!" responded Trip. "I'm getting hungry up here!"

Archer let the comment go and readied himself. He took a deep breath, shaking out his hands and rolling his head to loosen the muscles. He raised a finger to start the process...

"Wait for it," warned Reed, an eye on his watch. "We don't want to rush this. Let's give it a few more minutes."

"Why wait?" asked Archer, itching to press the shiny red start button.

"All due respect, Captain," started T'Pol. "We don't do anything unless it is the last possible minute.'

Archer cursed himself. "I forgot," he said. "So, we wait."

"Oh just press the damn button already!" shouted the estranged voice.

T'Pol cocked an ear. "Did anyone just hear that?"

"Hear what?" asked Hoshi, leaning towards the Vulcan. "I don't hear anything."

"Me, you fools!" cried the voice. "Can't anyone see me?! I'm right here!"

T'Pol took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Must have been the wind."

Reed glanced up from his watch. "Captain, I think we're ready."

Archer nodded firmly, and poised his finger back over the shiny red start button. "On my mark," he said with authority. "One, two, three...mark!"

With a forceful jab, Archer pushed the button and stepped back quickly. A thin blue light shot out from the contraption, hitting the estranged crewman square in the chest. He was stunned instantly and fell towards the ground of the shuttle bay, and into T'Pol's graceful arms.

Archer clapped his hands enthusiastically. "A perfect catch all round. The judges are ecstatic and give a 9.5."

"A 9.5!" huffed T'Pol, standing the crewman on his feet. "Only a 9.5?!"

"Well, you know how those Vulcan judges are...they're so bias..." mused Archer.

The crewman didn't find it at all funny, and wanted to get as far away from these lunatics as he could. "This is the last time I wear a red shirt anywhere..." he could be heard mumbling, as he made his way toward the exit.

Hoshi shook her head after him. "There's gratitide for ya."

"Hey, how the hell am I supposed to get down now?!" called Trip, still sitting on the shuttle.

"Just use the ladder you used to get up there!" replied Reed. "Do we have to think of everything?"

* * *

Having thought they were saved, the officers decided to rest awhile and bask in their glory. And since the mess hall was one of the only sets big enough to accommodate the whole senior staff, it was the perfect place to relax. They were lounging at a table discussing the finer points of their rescue as Trip sat a few tables to their left tending to his wounds.

Archer, between self-gratiating pats on the back, turned to Reed with a satisfied smile. "You know, I was beginning to think we we're never going to pull it off."

"I know what you mean, sir" replied Reed, propping his arms behind his head. "But that was some spectacular rescue we did..."

"No thanks to me," spat Trip. "I was the one who came up with the idea, remember?"

"You are quite right, Commander," agreed T'Pol. "Maybe there's hope for you yet."

"Well, now that that's cleared up," replied Trip, touching his head where the blood still flowed. "Do you think we can get me to the doctor?"

"So, what do you have planned next for us, Captain?" asked Reed, ignoring his friend's plea. "I was thinking of something like..." Reed spread his arms in front of him, displaying an imaginary screen to set the picture. "I get kidnapped by a band of matriarchal sex kittens, and they tie me to a post they plan to set on fire in worship. But first, each one wants to have their way with me...And..."

"Uh...uh...guys..." sputtered Trip, his eyes wide.

"You and the crew have to come rescue me. But of course, not until all the woman have had their chance..." Reed continued.

"Uh, guys!" repeated Trip, raising his voice. "I think there's something you should see."

"And one of these woman, let's say...the vivacious leader of the femme-fatales, falls in love with me and wants to spare my life..."

Trip, more concerned now, jumped to his feet. "Captain! I think you should look behind you!" he cried.

Archer, finally hearing his friend's warning, tilted his head back to peer behind him. His breath caught in his throat when his eyes fell upon the intruder. He flipped himself to his feet and spun around to confront the man who had appeared out of nowhere.

The intruder was an average looking man, a bit on the heavy side and wearing blue jeans, a T-shirt and a baseball cap. He was sitting at a desk with a computer in front of him.

"I told you," stated T'Pol with authority. "A back door."

An uncomfortable feeling began to manifest in Archer's stomach.

"Hey, guys, don't mind me. Just pretend I'm not here," said the man, as he typed a few words.

Archer knew who he was. He was a fan. A midnight lurker with his own website and a penchant for over analyzing each episode. And Archer realized he had been talking to him, but since Archer had been fascinating about murdering the guy, he had no idea what he had just said. Archer was just too angry and confused to respond anyway, so he just stood there gaping and pointing a finger.

It was T'Pol who said the first words. "Why are you here?" she queried, with a raised eyebrow. "You are not suppose to be here. We won. We made a great rescue."

The man shook his head solemnly, wiping a coffee stain from his shirt. "Guys, you're gonna have to do a better job than that to entice us fans," he patronized. "If you're gonna last till the seventh season that is. You're up against the big leagues now. No shuttle rescue is gonna save your butts."

"Are you serious?" asked Trip, taking up position beside his crew members. "Didn't you see that rescue? It had everything." Trip raised a finger for every item on his list. "First, it had a wayward crewman. Second, it had suspense..."

Hoshi slapped her hands to her face with a look of terror. "Oh my god...Are they gonna get him down safely? Will the resident Vulcan be crushed by his impact...?"

"Three," continued Trip, "technobabble. Fourth..."

The man waved a dismissive hand to quiet the engineer. "Keep to lookin' pretty, Trip. Believe me, you're gonna have to do better than that. You would've had better luck with the cute little alien."

Archer took a moment from his gaping to back hand Reed.

"I said I was sorry," protested the armoury officer.

"I suggest you get back at it and try again," offered the man.

Reed started biting his lip, contemplating the idea. T'Pol, well, she stared forward impassively. Hoshi and Archer shared worried looks, while Trip sighed, imagining what kind of accident was waiting for him in the rest of the ship.

"Go!" ordered the man, waving the officers along. "Shew! You don't have much time!"

With those words, the officers sprinted deeper into the never-ending bowels of Enterprise. "And may the force be with you!" called the man after them.

"So, what about me?" asked the estranged voice.

The fan turned to the helmsman standing before him. "I'd stay with them as long as you can," he replied. "But you'd have a better chance if ya'd just stop with the cutesy resident boomer schtick," he finished with a shake of his head. "Grow some balls."

"I can be aggressive!" cried Travis Mayweather. "The writer's just never give me the chance!"

The fan took a deep breath. "Go. They're leaving without you again."

Travis contemplated remaining behind and teaching this fan a lesson or two, but opted instead to follow his crew members. "Grow some balls," he mumbled to himself as he faded back into the background. "It's gonna take a miracle."

* * *

The Starfleet officers were deep within the ship when their next gleam of hope appeared. And it appeared in the form of a reptilian alien in pernicious leather and an overboding presence. He stood firm blocking their path, his shoulder's squared and his head high. The officers let out a yelp of joy. They had apparently found a worthy opponent to battle. And they knew a desperate fight against evil forces was always an excellent ratings grab.

"Bring it on, guys!" slithered the alien, an evil glint in his eye.

"Oh, I wanna see this!" cheered the voice of Travis Mayweather. He stepped up close, unseen by the two combatants.

Archer braced himself, rolling his neck and pumping his arms to warm up. "Oh, this is gonna be good," he taunted. Then he remembered something and returned to his pleasant demeanor. "Wait a minute," he said rubbing his hands together. "We gotta have a reason to destroy evil forces here. We," Archer indicated his crew members. "We're from a planet called Earth. And we only carry the highest morals and best intentions with us. We can't just beat the crap out of the weekly alien for no reason."

Reed leaned over his captain's shoulder. "I have no objections with that, sir."

Archer threw his armoury officer a beleaguered look, then turned back to the alien. "There has to be a valid reason, or at least one we can work around with moral justification, to get involved here. Have you done anything worthy of a good ass kicking lately?"

The alien pondered this a moment, holding his slimy chin. "Hm, let's see," he said, tapping his cheek. "A few years back I blew up a ship full of whisp like entities trying to take over my ship and crew?"

"Sounds good enough for me."

Reed weighed the idea, then shook his head. "Been there. Done that. Besides, we need something more recent. What have you done lately?"

"Oh please! What have you done lately?"

The alien began to think harder, tapping a finger on his temple. "Oh, I got it!" he beamed. "Just the other day I hijacked a Go'auld ship on it's way to harvest SG-1...Oh wait, that's the wrong show isn't it?...I guess that doesn't count?"

The officers scrunched their faces. "Yeah, sorry..."

"Good try, though..."

"We're getting closer..."

"You guys are pathetic! Come on, let me at him! I can do this!"

The alien slurped his tongue nervously, looking over head for the estranged voice. "What was that?"

Trip waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about it," he replied. "It's been happening all day. We've just learned to ignore it."

The alien shrugged and went back to contemplating his evil tidings. "I'll think of something, don't you worry." He started pacing back and forth, deep in concentration. It was several minutes later when another idea came to him. "How's this for evil minions from hell," he said, with anticipation. "Right before I met up with you, I pillaged a barren planet, ran naked through a Rigilien Ambassador's tea party, and took a crap on the Klingon home world?"

Archer nodded his approval. "Very good, very good," he replied. "Now we have something to work with." With that, he struck a fighting pose, ready to let his shirt get ripped just enough to show some chest.

"You get 'em, Cap'n," coaxed Trip, patting him on the back for support.

"Captain?!" cried the alien, in shear terror. "You didn't tell me you were the captain!" The alien backed away in surrender. "No way! I'm not competing with you. The captain never loses! Uh-uh. No way. Not gonna happen. 'They' didn't tell me I would have to compete with you. You'll kill me!"

"Oh, come on," pleaded Archer, desperately. "We really need this. Please?"

The alien just shook his head.

"Well, how about me?" asked Reed, displaying his attributes with a jocular expression.

The man pondered this a moment. "Who are you?"

"Lieutenant Malcolm Reed. I'm the armoury officer on this ship."

"Ha! Not likely. You're probably armed to the teeth. Who else ya got?" asked the man. "Next?"

"Oh come on?! I give up. I'm going to see what they're doing on SG-1..."

Suddenly Archer got an idea. He pushed his bloodied and broken engineer forward. "How 'bout Trip? He's an engineer, and not the smartest nugget in the Happy Meal? He's also the resident hunka hunka burnin' love on our showâ€”voted on by millions of viewers via the internet. So damaging him even further would add great angst to the story....Come on, whatta ya think?"

"This looks promising," chirped the voice. "Maybe I'll stick around."

The alien approached and began examining the frightened chief of engineering. The alien scrutinized every part of Trip, even pulling out a measuring tape to check his lung capacity. Then he compared height and picked Trip up for a weight check.

Finally the alien came to his decision. "I'm sorry," he sighed. "But you're gonna have to find another antagonist. I can't compete with this guy, look at him...He's pathetic. He can't even see out of his right eye, it's covered in blood. And I think his arm is broken."

"It's about time someone noticed!" huffed Trip, rubbing his battered arm.

Archer stomped his foot, but didn't see the point in arguing, so he relented graciously. Stepping up to the alien, he extended his hand. "Well, it could have been good. Thank you for trying."

The alien shook Archer's hand with a smile. "Anytime, Captain," he replied. "And hey, if you're ever looking for a familiar face to show up unexpectantly to save the day, look me up?"

"Will do," replied Reed, shaking the alien's hand.

"If we last that long," sighed Hoshi.

The alien waved good-bye and disappeared down the corridor. Archer and his senior officers were left standing alone with no antagonist, no adventure, no rescue...and no hope. They were feeling dejected and forlorn, and about ready to give up again, when a small light wavering in mid-air appeared.

It grew larger and more brilliant as the Starfleet officers stood gappingâ€”well, most gaped, T'Pol just watched stoically. The light started to take form into the shape of a man, and then in a magnificent flash, 'he' appeared.

The man, dressed in an expensively tailored suit, wing-tip shoes, slick hair and a sinister grin, began to laugh. Not your typical chuckle or chortle, but a deep, roaring from the gut howl. Archer, Reed, Hoshi and T'Pol stood in fear, whereas Trip had no idea what was going on, so he didn't have the sense to be afraid. And be afraid he should've been, for the culmination of all network executives had finally shown it's face.

"Give up with a little dignity, people," snarled the executive, barring his gleaming white teeth. "Resistance is futile!"

Archer drew in a deep breath, puffing out his chest in defiance. He squared his shoulder's and rolled his neck. The blood was pumping hard in his veins, the adrenaline was building. His muscles were aching to be exerted.

Then, facing reality, he let out his breath, slumped his shoulders. "Who am kidding," he sighed. "I can't fight you. You're the freak'n network."

"That's right, Captain," hissed the antagonist, raising his arms over his head in an arrogant pose. "I am the all powerful! I can do with you as I will! You are mere toys to me!"

"I don't suppose it would help if we got down on our knees and begged, would it?" asked Reed. The executive just laughed even harder. "Had to ask, you understand," explained Reed with a shrug.

"So, I guess this is the end?" asked a depressed Archer. "We're doomed before we even hit the seventh season."

"Whatta ya mean?!" cried Trip, finally getting the big picture. "This can't be it! We can't go out like this! I haven't even had a sexual relationship with one of my co-workers! THIS...CANNOT...BE...OUR...END!"

"Young engineer, this is not the end...But a new beginning," came a voice out of nowhere. But it was not the estranged voice. This one was corporeal.

"Hey! How come this guy gets a body while I'm still just a floating voice?!"

Everyone, even the network executive, spun around to see whom the voice belonged to. There, a few steps further down the corridor, stood a man draped in a dark brown hooded cloak bound at the waist with a grey rope. They could not see his face, only hear his words.

"I have been sent to help you in your quest, young trekkers," the mysterious man continued. "To save you from possible extinction, and to take you to the other side. I was once like you; Archer, Trip, T'Pol, Hoshi and Reed. I had my existence torn from the screen, and scattered amongst the cobwebs of re-runs, but I was saved. Someone, or more to the point something, saved me. And it can save you too. "

The network executive shook his head, dumbfounded and thoroughly agitated. "Whom, may I ask, are you?"

The cloaked man stepped forward, slowly retracting his hood. He was a young man, in his thirties with short brown hair, a strong body and a high forehead. "The name's Beckett. Sam Beckett," he said. Then he approached the executive and shook his hand. "Hey, how you doing. Don't suppose you've seen a hologram anywhere have ya? He's kinda short, speaks to a little thingy he calls Ziggy?"

The executive stared back gapping.

Sam Beckett shook his head with remorse. "Didn't think so."

Then he turned to greet his main objectives. He made his way over to the baffled and awe stricken officers. "Oh boy," he sighed. "Al's never gonna believe this one. But anyway, I'm on a bit of a time constriction, so let's get down to business," he finished with a deep breath.

"Hey, you can't come in here and do this!" fumed the executive, finally finding his voice and charging for the intruder.

Sam Beckett raised a hand, emitting a brilliant flash of white. "I think you need a time-out in the waiting room," he said smartly.

And the executive disappeared.

"How'd you do that?!" exclaimed Hoshi.

"Where'd he go?!"

"Can you teach me how to do that?!"

"Oh, there's more of that where I come from," replied Beckett. "Where we're going, it's all good. And don't worry about that cancellation threat. The fans would never allow it."

"We're going somewhere?" asked Trip, excitedly. "Will there be a doctor there?"

Sam Beckett held his arms out, beckoning for them to come closer. "Come, let me tell you a tale. A tale of a place you're gonna love..."

Having nothing better to do, the officers approached the confident young man. "So, what exactly is happening here?" asked Reed, a little suspicious. "Where exactly are we going?"

"It's called fanfiction my friend. And you're going to be real happy there," replied Beckett. "In this world, you can live forever, explore even stranger new worlds, and meet many, many, many, many, many...Did I say many?...beautiful women. These writers will treat you like the heroes you are. Like the Gods you are meant to be. Believe me, I should know. I was canceled a long time ago. Now, a day doesn't go by where someone doesn't read about me in a creative, well written and whimsically enlightening story."

"Can we have a minute to think about this?" asked Archer, gathering his officers together in a huddle.

"I'll be waiting right here," smiled Beckett.

"So, can I come too?"

Beckett looked around for a voice, spinning his head in circles. Not finding anything, he shrugged and turned back to the Starfleet officers.

Archer crouched his people together to discus their options.

"It sounds like a logical course of action, Captain..."

"What's fanfiction...?"

"I like the woman thing..."

"You know, this Beckett guy looks kinda familiar..."

"Living forever sounds good..."

"Don't forget the women..."

"I swear I know this guy..."

"Women..."

"This sucks."

"So, are we in agreement here?" asked Archer. His officers nodded enthusiastically. "Okay then, it's settled. We go. On three...One, two, three..."

"Break!" they chanted in unison, and headed back to the man called Sam Beckett.

"All right," cheered Beckett, clapping his hands in approval. "Let's go take what I like to call a quantum leap."

Beckett held out his hand and displayed the brilliant flash of white again. He turned to the Starfleet officers and waved them through. "They're going to take real good care of you here. Trust me. They won't let anything happen to you."

Fully confident in their decision, Archer, T'Pol, Hoshi and Reed stepped through the light and into the magical world of fanfiction. Trip on the other hand, had reservations.

He paused on the mantle and looked at Beckett with a worried glance. "Uh...um..." he stuttered. "This fanfiction...Is it safe over there? I mean, they're not gonna hurt me or anything are they?"

"Don't worry. They'll treat you real nice over there," nodded Beckett, playing innocent as he crossed his fingers behind his back. "They won't hurt you over there. They're kind and gentle. They hate to see their resident pretty boy get damaged, physically or emotionally. I promise."

Trip took Beckett's words as gospel, and stepped through the light.

"Sucker," laughed Beckett under his breath, as he followed the engineer. "They're gonna eat you alive."

"Oh this really bites the big one!"

Beckett paused before being engulfed by the brilliant light. He turned back and noticed a young African-American in a Starfleet uniform standing behind him.   
"Oh, you must be the helmsman?" noted Beckett with a smile.

Travis' eyes lit up. "You can see me?! You can really see me?"

Beckett nodded. "Of course I can see you."

Travis braced his hands on his hips in agitation. "Well you didn't earlier when I spoke up!"

Beckett shrugged. "Guess I wasn't really looking." Then he stepped back and made room for the ensign to enter the light.

Travis pointed at the mysterious exit in astonishment. "I get to go with them?"

Beckett nodded emphatically. "Travis, you of all people need to go through this door."

Travis took a deep breath and stepped through the light with renewed energy.

And thus, the further adventures of Starfleet's first crew were born into a brave new world. A place where they were respected and revered, and their stories told with such admiration and loyalty. And where the real juicy parts stemming from fan speculation, were never to be found on the cutting room floor.


End file.
